


Night 357

by Elipson



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27250132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elipson/pseuds/Elipson
Summary: "'This is a forsaken world.'""It is if you doubt."A trailblazing priest and timid harpist cross paths amidst a night of colours and sounds. The festival they attend has much to offer, but more than they could have anticipated.
Kudos: 14





	Night 357

**Author's Note:**

> TW: minor bloodshed (bullet wounds), but not extensive detail

Disguised in violet, she shivered in the night air.

  
These were festive streets alive with conversation and laughter. A modest village had become a river of orange candlelight veiled by paper lanterns. Children taller and shorter raced by with decorated balls and painted propellers that twirled up to the full moon. Aromas wafted through the air; crispy delicacies from the ocean, slow roasted beasts from the sky, decadent desserts that drew in the adolescents two at a time. There were games. There were performances.

And every corner she turned, there was music.

  
The crowd was everywhere; no matter where she turned, she could not shake them off. Vendors called out to her despite her best efforts to go unnoticed. Perhaps it was the colour of her clothes, or the casing of the instrument she refused to part with. Perhaps her social anxieties were a neon arrow bobbing over her head. She did her best to be polite and dismiss those who approached, yet the night would not let her off without exhausting her with conversation.

  
But when she perked up her ears, closed her eyes and listened, a melody would be there to calm her down. Someone’s digits dancing upon a copper thread, the gentle strokes of practiced fingers over black and white keys. Tonight, it was not the notes of the populace she had come for, but the hard work of the musicians who practiced for weeks leading up to this moment. To harvest the fruits of their efforts without cost was a pleasure worth the pain of social interaction. Every year she had but one chance to do so. It was a night she meant to keep with her forever.

  
A lot of walking had been done tonight. It was easy to get swept up in all that was going on and searching for a nice empty bench was quickly climbing the ranks of her to-do list. She found one fashioned of oak in a sizable gap between vendors and sat, removing her beret to let the wind play with her hair. It was an advantageous spot, with few passing by save for the small crowd around a musician in her direction. She let her legs dangle, observing his performance in the center of the road. Her ears picked up every note. The piece was beautiful; it seemed to be an original. A man of talent, she mused to herself. He has wonderful skill with the harp. Instinctively, she touched the case on her back. The wind took his music closer to her ears. Tender fingers strummed silent notes.

Her ears picked up a subtlety that went unnoticed by most. The first bar was twisted, the next few cautious. At times she heard joy, and at other times she didn’t. Like the walking of a tightrope, there was something precarious about the whole situation. Amidst a symphony of harmonized celebration, one melody was coming into her awareness.

  
It was coming from his direction.

  
“Sorry, miss.” She stiffened. She was being addressed. “Hope you don’t mind my company.”

  
It had a been a nice location to enjoy in solitude. She lamented the fact that it had been cut short by the presence of another. It was no matter, she told herself. I was headed for the performance anyway.

  
As her feet made for the floor, however, the motion was cut short.

  
“The crowd’s gotten bigger…” she murmured.

  
The comfort of her bench seemed in that moment much more enjoyable. It was one person or fifty. The decision was not a hard one.

  
“Yer not gonna go listen?” The figure addressed her again. Though not shy of hiding its age, there was strength to the voice that spoke. “It seemed you were gettin’ up. Must be the crowd. It’ll be hard to get a good spot in the midst of them.”

  
Compelled by courtesy, she answered. “I can hear just fine from here…”

“You’ve got a good ear, miss. Might be yer a musician yerself? The case on yer back and all.”

  
“A harpist…”

  
“Admirable. I bet yer not so bad.”

  
“Thank you…” The ropes of conversation had by now bound her by the wrists. The crowd did not seem to be dissipating anytime soon. It would be awkward to part from him now, nor did she still feel comfortable in doing so.

  
It was her opportunity to get a closer look at his features. Beneath long, perked gray ears was shoulder length hair and a worn visage bathed in orange shadow. It was difficult to get a grasp of his age, but it was apparent he had many more years than she did. His expression was the mask of mystery as he looked to the velvet abyss and smiled to a distant figure. This man is bound by aspiration, she thought. He’s after something beyond himself.

  
In his hand he clutched a sun-shaped pastry; she looked away as he took another bite. The enticing scent of taiyaki wafted from the bag around his left. How lucky he was. He’d gotten the dessert before the vendor closed. It was among the most popular of stands, with people demanding the owner for a portion even after he announced his shop was closed.

  
Her stomach growled.

  
This did not go unnoticed. Before she could open her mouth to respond, in her hands was a sun-shaped bundle of red bean goodness. “I was the last customer before he announced he was closin’. Lucky me, eh? Them other folks of the church that came with me today, I don’t know where they went. Don’t want these pastries gettin’ cold now. Might as well you take one.”

  
“I’m alright…”

  
“Yer body’s not as good as lyin’ as you are.” He took another bite. “Delicious. Eat it while it’s warm.”

  
She did so. It met every expectation she had and more. “Thank you…”

  
“Don’t mention it. We’re all here to have a good night. Not everyday that I get to leave the church fer an event like this.”

  
“Do you…live here?”

  
“Me?” The elderly man smiled. “I don’t. I’m from somewhere else. Small village, everyone’s close with each other.”

  
“Sounds wonderful.”

  
“Quite so. I’m the head priest of our modest following. Heard of the church of Renatus?”

  
“I can’t say I have.”

  
“No matter. Why not stop by sometime? We’d be welcome to have you.”

  
“I’m not…”

  
The priest laughed. “You don’t have to be religious or nothin’. We’re all good people there. Our village happily takes visitors when they come, skyfarers most of all. Bless ‘em. May the Sun goddess watch over them as they journey forth.”

  
The harpist had begun another song. It seemed his performance was closing soon. “I’ll consider it.”

  
The seconds passed silent between them. The last song chosen for the night was tranquil. Spectacle would dictate that he go out with a bang, but the duty of the harpist’s tune is to awaken the innermost spiritual parts of their listeners. Or perhaps that was her own bias coming into play. Her duty as an eternal had taken her across skydoms, and she had much and more but rarely what she wanted. Music was her craft, and she adored it…but the world was music, and the world was not what it seemed. Even amongst quiet nights like these, she still heard melodies in conjunction with words.

  
What was it that bugged her the most? She could not say. Perhaps it was the instinct from missions of the past, or perhaps the dissonance between his hands and his heart. Something was off, and she was in an inquisitive mood. Subtle it might be, but she wanted nothing to ruin this festive mood of hers.

  
A ball painted with stars came to a stop by her boots.

  
“Miss, perhaps I’m bein’ intrusive, but is somethin’ the matter?”

  
“Pardon?”

  
“I’ve been around folk like myself all the time.” He picked the ball up, and handed it to its owner, a young Draph short of breath, a charm hanging from her left horn. “I’ve learned to pick up when somethin’ goes awry.”

  
She was far too transparent. A certain sword fanatic reprimanded her on it every now and then. His smug voice echoed in her head. “Nothing.” She said, watching the small figure part with his toy. “Pardon if I worried you.”

  
“If you’d like to share, feel free. Or perhaps you were listenin’ so intently I misinterpreted the signs.” The priest grinned. “Though the Sun goddess is with us all times, it won’t stop my eyes from goin’ bleary with age.”

  
Her breath was a cloud in the cloudless air. “It does seem that experience makes us ever so cautious.”

  
Though he chuckled, his grey ears sunk but a hair, and his expression was lost briefly in the shadows. “You’ve got that right.”

  
The piece was coming to an end. She’d picked up a da capo from the subject of the first few bars, and all signs pointed to the performance drawing to a close. Her attention wandered between the dissipating crowd and the elderly Erune that sat next to her, popping the last of his taiyaki into his mouth.

  
“If you don’t mind…”

  
The elderly Erune perked up his ears. “Yes, miss?”

  
“That performer over there.” The harpist pointed.

  
The priest squinted. “Beyond the crowd, is that right?”

  
“There’s something I’d like to ask him.”

  
“Well, you won’t be needin’ my permission fer that, would you?”

  
“There’s something bothering him.” She faced him. “Something could be wrong.”

  
It seemed this possibility did not cross his mind. “Miss, that’s a bold conclusion to make from this distance. What makes you say so?”

  
“…Intuition.”

  
“Intuition is fickle.”

  
“Perhaps. But I have faith in my own.”

  
A long, heavy sigh followed a moment of pondering. “If yer right, uncanny intuition would be a mighty fine talent, if I do say so myself.”

  
“There’s no harm in asking.”

  
“None that I know of.”

  
The piece concluded with a warm wave of applause. The performer had few words for his audience but the basic courtesies of gratitude. The ovation echoed into the depths of the cloudless night.

  
“You want me to ask fer you.”

  
“If it would be possible.”

  
The Erune scratched the back of his head. “Curious one, you are.”

  
He stood, stretched, and looked up to the moon. The taiyaki bag around his left wrist rustled in the breeze, her purple hair swept up in equal motion. The modest village was before them. The street of lanterns rang with joyous sounds.

  
“Can I trust you?” The priest asked her. He was not smiling. “That yer not up to anything suspicious? No ulterior motives. No sabotage.”

  
“Nothing of the sort. Your trust would be well placed.”

  
“Benevolence is earned. Not all that walk down illuminated trails are blessed by the mighty Sun. Often are we deceived, young miss. False rays are a curse upon this world.”

  
“You can trust me.”

  
His expression relaxed but a bit. “Let us go confirm yer suspicions, then.”

  
They parted with the bench, their heels touching the ground in sync. The lanterns swayed gently hanging from the stalls. The crowd before the performer thinned to explore the wonders the night still had to offer. The air was still when they reached him, a young Erune no older than her, a silver ring in his left ear. A velvet coffin of navy blue, the case for his instrument, had garnered a handful of silver coins. The priest reached into his pocket and dropped in another.

  
“Wonderful performance this evening, young’un. A token fer yer hard work.”

  
He froze. His pale green eyes, darting in a frenzy in their sockets, landed on the duo and lingered for an uncomfortably long time.

  
“T-thank you.” He finally managed. “My apologies, the last song just finished.”

  
“And a beautiful song it was. You’ve worked hard. My companion here’s a harpist too. She knows best how much you must’ve practiced.

  
The weight of his stare bore down on her. “Maybe we could play together sometime.” He said, touching the ring in his ear.

  
“Oh…yes, of course.”

  
“The night’s still young.” The priest slipped his hands into his pockets. “Might you be heading off to enjoy yerself?”

  
“Oh, no, I’ve got places to go-” His fingers slipped; the stand that cradled his harp toppled toward him. The next moment, she had closed the distance, the instrument cradled in her chest.

  
“Careful now. Take care of your instrument at all times.”

  
The musician’s reaction took longer to catch up. “Oh, thank you…thank you.”

  
“Say, young’un.” The priest stepped closer. “There was something drawing our concern. My companion was the first to notice it, and I fear my suspicions may be matching hers real soon. Is something the matter? You don’t look well.”

  
“I’m-”

  
“You’re frighteningly pale.” The eternal stepped back, returning the instrument to him. “And your melody is of bleak terror. As though you’ve seen a ghost.”

  
“A ghost…I…”

  
“You may tell us. The Sun Goddess will listen to yer hardships. Her light will guide you. All will be solved. All will be well.”

  
“I wonder…” he murmured, the silver ring between his fingers. “I wonder if that is so.”

  
With trembling digits, he scooped the coins into a pouch and tucked it in his breast pocket. The instrument fit snugly into the velvet coffin. The tips of his fingers traced over the strings; each parted with the copper threads reluctantly, releasing a hushed note into the air. The winter wind whisked them off until they left the audible world. A velour lid descended over his possession. Silver latches clumped down tight, refusing to let go.

  
“Someone is coming for me. Tonight, I am to be killed.”

  
…

The late stages of the night were creeping in. It was past the hours of several vendors, whose owners had abandoned their lantern-lit booths to enjoy some peace and quiet. Already a nervous feeling was rising in her chest, and fiddling with the strap of her case was not dissolving any of the tension. Beside her, the taiyaki in the Erune’s hands had long gone cold. The sun remained whole, as whole as the pale moon hanging above their heads. On occasion she had possessed the courage to encourage him to take a bite, or to offer what reassurance she could come up with. One on one missions were never her forte. It was much harder doing it alone.

  
They had spent some time searching through the crowd, looking for some figure of authority to entrust him to. They had nothing to show for their efforts. A decision was made to linger by one of the vendors for a breather. Somewhere nearby, a quartet was performing an upbeat tune.

  
“Father Alanaan…” The Erune muttered, gripping the sun pastry in his hands.

  
“No one yet.” The priest heaved a sigh. “How strange that this village has no guards.”

  
“It may be for the better…Erste’s soldiers can be quite unpredictable.”

  
Alanaan pondered her statement. “Have you experience with rotten apples?”

  
“More than once. Some of them can be quite stubborn. Surprisingly so for protectors of the Skydom. Often there is little to do, unless you are in the mood for rebellion. It could be that they’ll just send him home.”

  
Their protégé went paler than what she thought possible. “Please don’t let that happen. I’d rather be in the safety of an eternal. I feel much better being by your side.”

  
The Harvin looked away. It was rather a letdown to know her outfit would not help her. “I will do my best. No harm will come of you.”

  
“You’ve got the key to righteousness right by yer side.” Alanaan presented him with an optimistic smile. “Never have the eternals failed a mission. Their namesake is legendary.”

  
The Erune smiled back. It was the first smile she’d seen from him. “So I’ve been told. The stories of your ventures are remarkable.”

  
“May the great Sun Goddess watch over you, Niyon. To think I’d nothing to offer such a hero but some lukewarm desserts and some criticism on intuition.”

  
She pulled her beret over her vision. “You exaggerate…There was good reason to be doubtful. You don’t know what sort of nasty people are out there.”

  
“Aye. Appearances can be deceiving.” As it did when seated on the bench, Alanaan’s expression clouded over. “It’s a big world out there. Not all parts of it are as friendly as you’d hope. Troubled times we live in…”

  
The tightrope grew thinner. Niyon tugged at his sleeve. When he raised his head, the priest came to realize what had happened. “You have no reason to worry, young’un. The Sun Goddess has judged you fairly. You are in the right. Those who are in the right will have no harm come to them.”

  
The quartet concluded their performance. An audience applauded; somewhere whistled. The next song began; a slow, somber movement that began with the wail of a violin.

  
A question came to the eternal; however, she was interrupted before she could ask it. “Am I…worthy of the approval of your Goddess?”

  
“She judges all by their deeds. If you are righteous, she will accept you into Paradise.”

  
“But how will I know if I am righteous?”

  
“That’s a difficult question, young’un. Yer deeds are the best judge of that. The paths we walk upon will converge and diverge and converge again in the most unexpected of places. With each interaction, there is the prospect of change. Change fer the better, change fer the worse. The Sun Goddess is there fer it all. We may fall in and out of righteousness, but it is key that we all strive fer that destination. There is much and more I could say about the subject, but if nothin’ else remember this: it is never too late to repent. Righteousness is always possible if you work toward it. It is the ideal that all should strive fer.”

  
“Such an optimistic worldview.”

  
“It’s my duty to my followers to present honest truths. The Church of Renatus is forever welcoming to those willing to join us.”

  
“The world must be a wonderful place to you.”

  
“Wonderful? I wouldn’t say so. The great Sun Goddess is not all forgiving. Her light will only guide you if you open yer eyes fer yerself.”

  
“She must be dismayed by my idiocy. O great Sun Goddess, if only I could hear your voice tell me how foolish I was. It was absolute idiocy on my part tonight to come out and perform, knowing that this would happen.”

  
Alanaan gaped at him. “You knew someone would be after you?”

  
“Foolish, wasn’t it? They knew I would come here tonight. They knew me so well, and I knew exactly how to thwart them…but I couldn’t resist. I wanted to perform.”

  
“Yer killer has done their research.”

  
“…They didn’t have to. We were on wonderful terms in the distant past.” He tapped his fingers together, returning the pastry to the priest who took it with a troubled look. “Perhaps wonderful would be an exaggeration…but it’s hard to view youth without the lens of nostalgia. At first, we were ambitious rivals, competing to see who would achieve greatness first…but over the years, a multitude of events transpired. It led up to tonight, where he didn’t want me performing at the festival. He wanted to do everything in his efforts to stop that from happening. When he realized that was hopeless…he turned his efforts in a different direction.”

  
“To yer death?!” Over the noises of the thinning crowd, she could make out the sound of grinding jaws. “Unforgivable!”

  
“It was…so sudden.”

  
“That’s no justification! Yer past is yer past, but what crimes have warranted such anger? No stealing, no murdering…yer haven’t even done anythin’ wrong!”

  
“That’s right…” the Erune muttered, covering his ears. The silver ring brushed his fingers. “I’ve done…nothing wrong. And yet he wishes to impose an untimely end upon me.”

  
“But why here? In the middle of all these people, and after yer performance? And why would he tell you what he’s about to do?”

  
“Father Alanaan, I cannot answer all your questions. The reasoning is something beyond my knowledge. He’s always been rather short tempered. Perhaps it’s in his nature, always quick to anger and overreaction.”

  
“But this is absurd!”

  
“Perhaps he…wasn’t the person I thought he was.” The Erune held his head in his hands. The quartet’s melody was being drowned out by his own. “No, that’s wrong. This is exactly what he would do. The extent of his actions is not inconceivable. I should’ve known this would happen from the moment I made that decision. The decision to part from him forever.”

  
The eternal touched a hand against his arm. She closed her eyes and listened. By the time she opened them, his melody had returned to a steady tempo. The notes were in her mind. They were not pleasant. The dissonant pieces refused to come together.

  
“We will keep you safe.” Niyon managed.

  
“Thank you…it’s all I can hope for at this point.”

  
“A composer as bright as you should not suffer his end here.”

  
She had caught him off guard. The ring in his left ear jingled. “Composer? But-”

  
“I’ve heard a number of pieces and performed my equal share. None like yours. They’re original, aren’t they?”

  
“Y-yes, they are…I’m quite satisfied with the result.”

  
This time, she met his gaze with her own. “Keep working hard in the future. I shall come back next year to view your performance once more.”

  
His hands cupped her own. “Perhaps we might play together.”

  
She looked away, attempting to focus on the performance nearby. No hands were free to hold onto her beret. “Until next year, then.” She said, unable to face his sudden enthusiasm.

  
They made the decision to return to the crowd. With renewed vigour, the Erune harpist made his way from one open booth to the next, pursuing the activities Niyon seemed sure fear had sealed off. Of particular interest to him were the eccentric trinkets perceived by most to be no more than odd junk. The eternal could only look on with curiosity. She possessed little tact with beads and ribbons; she could only smile with implied understanding as she watched his face light up with enthusiasm.

  
All seemed to be joyous once more, as though the breakdown had been nothing more than a hallucination. She wished only that her ears told the same story. The atmosphere of carefree enjoyment was laid upon a foundation of anxiety easily perturbed. They were all concerned, not knowing when something would happen. The outlooks were all that differed. Niyon knew her strengths, but she could not be certain. She could never be certain, for certainty required confidence that she did not have in that moment. Her protégé was fooling himself the best he could. His eyes were not glued to the trinkets; even when something caught his attention, the green irises refused to stay still.

  
Among the three of them, the priest remained undoubtedly the calmest. Reading him from the outside was of the utmost difficulty, but the tempo that reached Niyon’s ears was remarkably consistent.

  
“You are quite composed.” She told him.

  
A hood, his attempt to keep warm, shrouded his visage. “I would not say so. Tis not composure, but a solemn prayer that this young man will be judged in a benevolent manner.”

  
She pondered. “I hope I’m not being too presumptuous by asking.”

  
“Ask away.”

  
“Why have you chosen the Sun Goddess?”

He chuckled. “The other way, miss. She chose us.”

  
“What is her relationship to your village? Is it she who guards it or blesses it with favours, like Tiamat to the captains of Port Breeze?”

  
He shook his head. “She is much more. Her gift is fer us all; we of the church simply act as her humble messengers. We would not think to curry trivial favours with such an entity, fer she is much more to us. She is our warmth and radiance, a figure auspicious like no other. Her luminosity promises success and splendor to all that choose to devote themselves. There is much more to her than a guardian role, young eternal. She is our guiding torch into the abyss, the one that promises to take us to a better world.”

  
She could not comprehend his cryptic words. “But has she ever achieved such miracle?”

  
“On numerous occasions ever since our first encounter. My hand has been guided by her teachings more times than I can remember. You are a curious one, to question faith so boldly. I did not expect that from you.”

  
Neither did she. “I apologize.”

  
“You have no need to. ‘Seein’ is believin’’ is a common phrase of the young’uns these days. It is somewhat difficult to comprehend my words when the miracles do not manifest before you. But you must learn to look past the absence of insignificant blessing. The Sun Goddess has a further purpose, one that will solve and is far beyond the day to day triflin’ of good vs. evil. One day you will see it, I am certain.”

  
“Does she truly possess such power?”

  
“I am sure of it.”

  
“Music is more than a pattern of notes, priest Alanaan. Though patterns may emerge, a single conclusion will never suffice in capturing the whole performance. The questions of mortality are much the same. It is a spectrum that cannot be summarized with two categories alone.”

  
“The analogy is lost on this elderly one.” The priest mused. “I cannot hear the world as music.”

  
“You do not have to.” The eternal responded.

  
“You do not believe in good and evil?”

  
“I believe everyone has the potential to be both. Melodies will run astray, inevitably so. My duty is to rescue them before they reach the point of no return.”

  
The priest nodded. “You possess an extraordinary ability. If it really is as strong as you described it, most would have reason to fear just knowin’ you were around.”

  
“I wouldn’t like that. Not at all.”

  
“And thus, it is not so. Yer a righteous one, dear Niyon. I’ve met many who would go mad with power, knowin’ they could manipulate an individual the way you could. You choose to use that fer selflessness through and through. You have nothin’ but my respect.”

  
She pulled her beret over her vision. “T-there is no need for that.”

  
The Harpist had wandered off to another booth, marveling at the choice of beads on a shimmering copper braid.

  
“It is fair to presume, then, that you believe in redemption.”

  
“All should be given the chance, so long as they realize what is right and what is wrong.”

  
“Do you believe it is too late fer some?”

  
The answer flashed before her. Not to his question, but to her own. The origin of the melody she had heard. “Do you?”

  
So that was the abyss that she saw. It was ambition, indeed, but ambition that was not earned without sacrifice. It was disappointment at what he saw. It was the slow abandonment of the world before him.

  
“The great Sun Goddess gave me my answer long ago.” The low voice of the priest was no longer directed toward her. “Long ago, ever since our first encounter-”

  
The air was split in two. Splinters erupted from the corner of a stand. The vendor shrieked. The village took to their heels.

  
“Young’un!” Alanaan removed his hood, pushing through the crowd on his way to the vendor. The Erune had collapsed, the coins from his wallet scattering all about the floor. Crimson blood gushed from an opening in his leg, spilling onto the floor, over the trinkets, over the wood. The priest was giving instruction to the vendor, rummaging through her stand for something of use.

  
They were all about her, running in all directions. She was the buoy, caught in the malice of the ocean waves. The world was dissonance in physical form. and several times was she nearly knocked off balance. But she knew what to do, what had to be done. She was capable and agile, and soon had made her way to the young harpist’s side. Her fingers worked her case. The instrument rose from its capsule, levitating before her.

  
“Defendu.”

  
The pluck of a string proceeded a flash of blue. A second bullet cut through the winter chill, striking the shield and melting into dust. The Erune shrieked in conjunction with the vender. Alanaan cowered. All 4 were still breathing when the impact was over.

  
A chromatic fourth. A dominant 7th. Each fractal of the shield carried a stunning vibrant glow. “No ordinary gun will penetrate this barrier. You will be safe here. I will go.”

  
“Wait!” The booming voice of Alanaan was unmistakable amongst the crowd. “Let me go with you.”

  
“It would be irresponsible-”

  
“I have to go!”

  
“Alanaan-”

  
“There is no stoppin’ this.” Slate gray eyes seethed with anger. “If this is the outcome he chooses, so be it. But I must be there to witness the outcome.”

  
The shield needed no reinforcement. They would be safe there, even without the priest to guide them. “Very well.”

  
Once more the spell was cast, replicating the shield before the duo. Their target was before them in a tall, winding tower. It had come from one of the uppermost floors, that much was obvious enough. But she knew not the exact floor where the shot had come from, nor could she climb fast enough to eliminate the possibility of escape. Her mind did not work fast enough that way, not with the dissonance was still ringing in her ears.

  
She halted the priest at the entrance of the tower. Slender fingers brought forth the subject of a fugue, which sounded through the building in short disjointed echoes.

  
“Remain behind the shield while comatose is audible.” She told him. “I have little reason to doubt its reach. I only hoped it reached our target fast enough.”

  
One after the other, the stone steps emerged on a winding staircase. Neither was built for a climb of this magnitude, yet Alanaan gave pause for not even a moment. It would be shameful to admit exhaustion and lag behind him. 5, 10, 15 floors…she was losing count by the second. The railings were cold. The steps were cold. Her consciousness was freezing over. A gentle melody would not come no matter how much she pleaded. There was only the fury of the elderly Erune.

  
Alanaan halted. Struggling to catch her breath, his reason for pause was not immediately clear to her.

  
But then she noticed.

  
Positioned by a window on a carpet of broken glass was the silhouette of a barrel and its wielder. It turned to them; a pair of projections made impact with her shield. The eternal approached with the beginnings of a fugue.

“Do not cast comatose.” spoke the priest. “The Sun Goddess will hear him first.”

  
The two closed their distance. The wielder, a draph of bronze horns, backed slowly into the corner of the stairwell, his body flimsy with exhaustion. Though the priest did not stand tall, the approach of the shadow drew visible fright from the culprit.

  
Her nails glossed over the strings, but the instrument did not sing. Curiosity had turned her mind to stone.

  
“Confess. I will hear yer story.”

  
“You-”

  
“The judgement of the Sun Goddess is final, but she cannot judge without the evidence laid bare. Paradise has forsaken you; you will not be a part of the new world. You have nothin’ to lose but yer shackles of pride. Step forth and explain yer sinful behaviour.”

  
The culprit stumbled to his feet. “You are a priest, aren’t you? A religious zealot, through and through. Much can be said about what brought me here today, but pride should not be mentioned. Do not…do not speak to me of pride.”

  
His legs gave in quick, and he collapsed to his knees. A fist made impact with broken shards of glass. Thrice it slammed down, leaving a crimson mosaic beneath the moonlit window. Then he howled, tears falling from his eyes.

  
…

“How much did he tell you?” With shaky balance, the culprit rose once more. He leaned against the wall as though the breeze would knock him over.

  
The priest did not budge. “That you were rivals in youth, and enemies in adulthood.”

  
“Did he tell you why that was?”

  
“He told me you didn’t want him performin’ at the festival.”

  
The draph let out a raspy cough. “Why is it that those like you always demand a confession, but leave without the full picture?” He studied his bleeding palm, removing flecks of glass. His bloodshot eyes were firm with resolve. “His harp, made of Lumacie spruce, its velvet case a deep navy blue. Has he ever told you where it came from? His compositions, the handiwork of a shining young composer. Has he said anything of the inspiration behind them? I don’t think so.”

  
The Harvin’s eyes widened. “So you are saying…”

  
“He cannot afford an instrument of that caliber. He cannot compose pieces so graceful.” The colour was returning to his face. “The possessions are not his own. They belong to someone much more deserving of them than himself.” His heels ground against the carpet of dust, lifting it from the cold stone floor. “We attended the same academy, him and I under the guidance of the most talented man I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Our class was small, enough that everyone got an equal amount of attention. But he was not beyond favouritism. It was obvious to most of us who his favourite student was.”

  
“I am not so trivial as to seek vengeance over my inferior skill. Though I made little attempt to hide my disappointment, on the occasions where we did get along it was not beyond me to acknowledge his talent for the harp. It earned him an offer to perform for a true audience, one that would recognize his talents. It would be his chance in the spotlight to show off an original composition. His harp was than up to the task. His composition skills were not.”

  
“Our instructor was more than willing to help. What compelled him to go as far as he did was something I still struggle to comprehend. He offered his most prized possession, an instrument decades old from the Lumacie Archipelago. He offered one of his own compositions when the fool failed to produce his own. Was it enough? Of course not. When he stepped up on that stage, showered with warm applause, the harp did not sing the song we’d expected. I was next to our instructor when the first notes echoed through the auditorium. His face went pale as a sheet. He had not intended to give that one away.”

  
A chill ran down her spine. The eternal rubbed her hands together, hoping to ignite some warmth. “How did he-”

  
“We don’t know. To this day, we don’t know what he did. Our instructor never breathed a word to his students. I, plagued with suspicion from the performance, only found out through a stroke of fate, lingering in the after hours of class when everyone thought I’d gone home.”

  
“What folly…” The elderly priest relaxed his fist.

  
“It was not a true confrontation.” Under the moonlight, the culprit looked defeated. “The subject was never properly addressed. To this day, I doubt anyone would’ve stopped him. He fell for the instrument since the performance. Common sense was imprisoned by delusions of success. Perhaps he’s realized it now. Perhaps some remnants of conscience have returned to that thick head of his. But back then, his obsession could not be quelled. He refused to take the blame. He felt cheated of a life on the stage, insistent that his potential was being held back. So he chose to take action.”

  
The gun lay still on the floor. His heel came down on it.

  
“So much can change in the course of a night.” Cracks ran through his voice. “You head to bed, expecting to awake to the morning’s lesson by an instructor that gives his all to see you improve. You wake in the morning and see his name in the paper. You never get to thank him for all he’s done.”

  
The atmosphere weighed on each of their shoulders.

  
The bitter student gazed out the window. She wanted to tear her heart out. “They never said he was the one that did it. They only gave hints that there was a scuffle, based on the scratch marks upon his back when he was found. I made the deduction myself.”

  
“Yer no detective.” Alanaan spoke gravely.

  
“Must I be, when the top student resigns from the academy to flee to another Skydom? It was only a matter of time before I figured the rest out.”

  
Niyon stepped forward. “It does not warrant bloodshed-”

  
“Of course.” He halted her in her tracks. “It warrants humiliation. One last performance at a trivial festival, the vines of paranoia enclosing around your heart. Then all over in an instant. The decades that remain spent without control over your limbs. Never again will you feel the strings against your fingertips. Never again will you gain the reception of an enthusiastic audience.”

  
The draph approached the priest; the veins were gone from the whites of eyes. “I have confessed. The narrative has been laid before you. Will you step back?”

  
The priest cast his eyes. “The…Sun Goddess has heard yer story.”

  
Another step forward from their target. The distance was dangerously close; the difference in height quickly became apparent. The moonlight no longer reached the eyes of their target. “Please understand.”

  
“It is an evil deed, Alanaan.” Her fingers rested on her harp.

  
“…Would you have wished this upon him, had he not done so?” Alanaan spoke.

  
“There would have been no need.” The draph answered.

  
The growing noises of conversation made their way through the window. Niyon stole a glance down; the villagers were returning, gathering by the vendor where the shot had been directed. The young Harpist was likely in the midst of the growing crowd. His wound remained vivid in her memory. The bullet did not reach the intended location. He will still be able to play; the only change may be a crutch to help him walk. She shuddered, and her eyes found the firearm laying on the ground. Like the hand of a clock, the mouth pointed in their direction, its shadow tucked beneath its long muzzle.

  
“This is a forsaken world.”

  
It had returned: the commanding voice of the head of the Renatus church.

  
Slate gray eyes stared down the vengeful musician. “How disappointin’ that it has come to this, that the corrupt live among the righteous, and the righteous are so easily corrupted.”

  
The draph swallowed. “You…”

  
“You would have me think that yer in the right. Perhaps you are; I do not doubt the events of yer story. It has provided me with some much-needed perspective. But do not try to convince me that you are some ally of justice. You would go so far as to inflict a lifetime’s worth of misery onto another. That is not vengeance. That is the will to make another suffer. Yer character is beyond redemption. Delusion has enslaved you, the same way it did yer former acquaintance.”

  
“Are you mad?! Were you listening at all?!”

  
“To every word.”

  
“Have you any sense as to what he has done?!”

  
“My judgement is final. The Sun Goddess has seen through you.”

He threw a punch, his knuckles striking the shield. The pale fractals of the barrier shimmered in the silver moonlight. The priest did not flinch.

  
Niyon touched a string. The first note echoed. “We will take him-”

  
“He’s not goin’ anywhere.” The priest stared down at her. “Do not cast yer spell. We cannot hand him over.”

  
“We have heard his story.”

  
“Indeed, we have. But they may not listen.”

  
“He will confess-”

  
“But they will not hear it. Not what we heard. Not with fluff between their ears. Erste is fickle, you said so yerself. He must receive the punishment he deserves. Only we tonight know the right thing to do.”

  
She tensed. A swelling tempest continued to crescendo. “You cannot.”

  
“The Sun Goddess has judged him-”

  
“You have judged him.”

  
“The Sun Goddess speaks through me. I am her vessel. I am her pactbearer.”

  
“Yet the decision is flawed. The decision is yours.”

  
“Then what will you do as an eternal?” The priest’s glare found both of them. “What sort of judgement will you impose?”

  
She was at the ready. The voices of the crowd were drawing closer to the tower. “He will be taken and sentenced accordingly. There will be time to reflect on them behind bars.”

  
The priest laughed. His eyes did not smile. “Bars will not keep him in check.”

  
She was spiraling out of control. “If you intend to end his life, you are no worse than him.”

“The foolishness of youth should be repressed in moments like this. You possess the most power in this room, yet you refuse to act? Yer crew did not earn its reputation out of cowardice. You should have always been ready to make a difficult decision. This is fer the better.”

  
She could not stop herself. “The better of whom?”

  
“The better of all. I have seen what happens if you let his kind run off. He will not stop in his efforts. He will not hesitate to continue until the day of the young’un’s death.”

The priest drew in a breath. “My ears did not mistake me earlier, despite my hesitation. You said so yerself. You told me this was an evil deed. If not death, then tune him. Correct his sins and make him a better person.”

  
“That’s not what tuning is! I cannot manipulate him to your bidding! When the notes of your instrument go astray, you cannot bend them to your convenience!”

  
“Pray tell, then. What sort of power is it?”

  
“I do not enforce my targets; I only guide them. I show them the path they must take, the path they have fallen from; if they do not follow it, the dissonance will torture them until they do.”

  
“And what of those who are beyond the path of redemption?”

  
“There are none. All should be given the chance to start anew-”

  
A false note broke the tension. The pale blue shield shattered before the priest; its shards turned to dust before they hit the ground. The culprit sat, gun in hand, back against the wall. His left eye was closed. His right eye found the eternal.

  
A blow to the side of his face knocked him off balance. The long barrel of the firearm struck the stone floor. The priest, his breathing heavy, stood with a clutched fist above him. His heel aimed for the muzzle, holding it under the weight of his leg. It was not enough; with a forceful jerk, the weapon returned to the hands of his target. The Draph struck him in the shin before he could bring it down once more. A hoarse cry of pain echoed through the stairwell.

  
Niyon locked eyes with the muzzle. Her instrument was before her. Practiced fingers found the strings without looking. The first bar sounded through the stairwell. Soon it would over. Soon all would be calm. Her eyes found the priest. The priest’s words found her ears.

  
‘He must receive the punishment he deserves. Only we tonight know the right thing to do.’

  
The spell came to a halt with a false note. A lead projectile grazed her beret, shattering as it made impact with the wall behind her. Her heart nearly stopped. Her eyes were shut tight. Open them. Wake up.. Do what you need to do. Do not doubt yourself. Do not be shaken by what he said to you.

  
The priest had found his footing by the time her eyes opened. The barrel hesitated between them before choosing Niyon as its target. She would not hesitate a second time. The fugue began as his fingers closed around the trigger.

  
“Yer pactbearer calls upon you! Shower this world with yer radiance!”

  
A blinding light filled the room, brighter than any she had ever witnessed. As though winter was a passing chill, the room was scorched in heat. She struggled, to no avail, to shield herself. Her eyelids were powerless against the assault. Rays of orange and yellow and red of all shades came forth, a cavalry charge against the abyss. The cryptic words came together in a moment of realization. The undying faith of this man had manifested before her eyes.

  
Then the heat began to swell. The might of her shield struggled against the ejection of flame. Scorching winds were picking up. She was losing her balance. The aura was beyond what she was ready for. The musician. I must protect the musician. He cannot…he cannot…a shield. I need a shield.

  
She made her attempt. A barrier fought against the corona. It was a war against the sun itself, a war she had not prepared to enter. In the direction of her target, she cast her spell. Instantly she knew it did not work. Again she tried; again she failed. The light had blinded her. All sense of direction was meaningless. Her own barrier threatened to give in. She could not sense his presence. She was losing her footing. She was losing her hearing. I have to stop him. I have to. I have to.

  
The Harvin cried out into the fiery unknown. A deafening rumble swallowed the name whole.

  
…

She did not wake on a floor of stone, but covers of linen fluffy and warm. A hearth broke the darkness with an orange glow. The room was unfamiliar; a bedroom of two, one bed in each corner. A nightstand of oak separated them, her beret resting on it. A hand slipped beyond the reach of her covers and found the casing of her instrument. Swiftly it came to rest on her lap; gold latches clicked open to reveal her most prized possession unscathed. She tested a note, pleased with the resonance.

  
“Niyon?” The voice was from the bed next to her own. “Thank goodness!”

  
She turned to him, the young Erune, sitting up against his pillow. His relief was genuine.

  
“Is it just us two?”

  
He nodded. “The vendor will be back soon. This is her home. She took us to it after treating my leg.” He lifted the covers. Fresh white bandages gave no trace of the wound. “A doctor came to visit. She gave me some medicinal concoction that seems to be working wonders. Already the pain has subsided, though it may be some time before I can walk on my own.”

  
“Where is Alanaan?”

  
“I haven’t seen him. The guards went up the tower after the flash of light. They returned with your possessions and you alone.” The flames crackled. “Do you think he might have-”

  
“No.” If the light were his own, he would know better than to let it consume him. “He lives by the miracle of his guardian primal.”

  
“Was that where the blinding flash came from?”

  
She did not answer.

  
“He is incredible. Who would’ve thought that I was spending the night with such a powerful pair of bodyguards? No opponent would’ve been a match against the two of you. Not even-” He swallowed and chuckled to himself. “I truly am grateful. I caused you so much trouble. It would’ve torn me to pieces if either of you had perished for someone such as myself. I cannot begin to repay the favour, but one day I will, I promise you-”

  
“Was I all they found?” She took her beret from the nightstand, pulling it over her vision.

  
“You and your instrument. They say the walls had blackened. The heat had consumed all but you, lying in a cool circle of stone. The villagers were frightened. They’d never felt such an immense aura as the one from that blazing ejection. I was worried I might never see you again. Imagine my surprise just now to hear you mention that father Alanaan was in control of such a mighty force.”

  
“Yes, it was him. He spoke the words, and the light followed. You’re safe now. He made sure of it.”

  
His tempo slowed. His melody died down to a whisper. One look between them: when he broke the gaze, she knew. “It was too late. There was no saving him.”

  
The flames flickered. For a split second, a shadow threatened to swallow the room. She slipped out of the covers and found her boots against one of the posts. The instrument levitated at her command.

  
“How much did he tell you?”

  
She faced him. “Is the harp with you?”

  
He stumbled on his words. Sentences started and stopped.

  
“Yes,” he eventually managed. “Of course. By my bedpost.”

  
A name was never given, but it was not meaningless to learn it now. What had once been another’s could still be returned to his tomb. She had permission to cross the skydoms. There was nothing her crew couldn’t do. There was nothing she couldn’t do. So where was it? Where was the method that would the damage that was done? She searched for it. She searched. She searched. A scene dispelled all others; it was the blazing heat of the Sun Goddess’ blinding torch.

  
The priest would never admit to it. Even under interrogation, he would argue for self-defense. It was not he who attacked first; it was the wielder of the gun, who fired despite her shield. Her shield, which had shattered upon the first distraction. Death was so simple. There had never been a moment to lose. Her chance had come. Many times had it come. Always was there a chance to step forward.

  
Always, even by the fireplace of a humble villager’s home.

  
Her fingers descended. Dissonance filled the room.

The Erune clutched his chest and sobbed so hard he choked. “Niyon…”

  
“Do not take my tuning for some manipulative power. This is not my doing. I cannot force you to drown in sorrow. The feelings are but your own.”

  
His nails dug into his palms. “Please don’t…help…please help…I didn’t mean…I didn’t…”

  
“I cannot help you.” She returned her instrument to her case and made for the door. “I can only trust that you know what must be done. There is no sense in going against the music inside you. If you continue to live like this, you will suffer.”

  
“Don’t go. Please, don’t go…”

  
“Alanaan will be searching for you; I cannot guarantee your safety if he finds where you are. But the night is not forever. Remain indoors; tell the vendor to not answer anyone’s questions. Wait until dawn, when the airships have departed. Once the light breaks the horizon, you should be free to seek out a guard.”

  
“Niyon, please…next year…”

  
The strap of her case went over her shoulder. Her destination was a short walk down a narrow hall. The hinges creaked open slow.

  
“You were lovely, young Erune. It was a wonderful performance.”

  
A light snow was falling when she opened the front door. She could not make head nor tail of where she was. A thin crowd made their way down a generic road; neither direction seemed favoured. Though she did not like it, there was no option. The eternal stepped into the streets and waited for a friendly expression. She picked a gentleman in a heavy coat, who stopped when she tapped him.

  
“Which way to the airships?”

He pointed. “5 blocks down, then make a right at the statue. You’ll find it at the end of the road.”

  
Her guiding lights were the oil lamps appearing at regular intervals. Most stands were empty or taken down, and all of a sudden, the village seemed much more barren. She spotted not a single child as the 5 blocks went by her, though most houses had their lights on. There was little in the way of conversation, and less in the way of music. Now and then she picked up someone’s favourable description of how the night went down. The enthusiasm of one such incident came from an elderly man whose words made her smile. It did not last for long.

  
A lone violinist was performing by the statue when she arrived. A handful of villagers were there to witness her performance. The eternal joined them and searched her pockets, dropping a gold coin into the musician’s case. Such a rare thing. Niyon pondered, listening. The piece was not her own, yet they are in perfect sync. Her own rhythm is there with every note she plays.

  
The hint of a familiar voice drew her attention. She made for the road; no one was there to receive her. In every direction there was unfamiliar faces.

  
She continued for the docks. Behind the metal gates, the silhouettes of enormous balloons appeared from the horizon, suspending their wooden ships in mid-air. The anchor for one was taut. Another drifted off into the night sky until it vanished behind the veil of snow. Guards in silver armor discussed matters with men in navy blue suits on the empty runway, bordered by lamps housing enormous wax candles. By the entrance was a Harvin guard in full attire, a pen behind his ear and a clipboard in his hand.

  
“Will I be able to join this one?” Niyon pointed at the airship with the taut chain.

  
“It just filled up.” His free hand reached into his breast pocket and produced a watch. “It departs in 10 minutes.”

  
“How long until the next?”

  
He turned the page, tracing the butt of his pen down the paper and glancing at the time. “Leaves in 30 minutes. We’ll be doing last call for passengers in 20. There is still time if you wish to explore the festival.”

  
“The festival is over.”

  
The guard made a face, returning the watch to the safety of his coat. “That so?” The point of his pen scratched the back of his head. Quickly he realized that was a poor decision. “Here I was, thinking there was time to enjoy what was left. A shame.”

  
“A shame, indeed.”

  
He noticed the case. “We could take that off your hands if you wish to board now.”

  
“I’d rather hold onto it myself during the flight.” Niyon eyed the clipboard. “If I may…”

  
“Yes, miss?”

  
“Could you check for me if someone has left?”

  
A finger turned the pages one back. “Could I get a name?”

  
She gave him one. The butt of the pen trailed down the paper. It flipped the pages back, paused, and flipped them forward again. He checked the time. “He should still be here if you are looking for him. There is an airship departing in 5 hours or so, the first vessel at dawn.” He said. “The person you’re looking for will be boarding then.”

  
“Thank you.”

  
“Should I put your name down? One seat remains.”

  
A queasiness in her stomach took her by surprise. She refused the offer. “The one in 30 minutes, please.”

  
“Will you be boarding immediately?”

  
She shivered. “No. There is still something I must do.”

  
He requested her name, and she gave it. “Last call in 20 minutes, miss Niyon.”

  
“Thank you. It won’t take long.”

  
A voice cried out as she parted the gates, and the air came alive with the sound of propellers. Someone was complaining that they missed their chance, their voice shaky from the cold. Warmth was not upon her either. She rubbed her hands together, her breath a hearth against the winter chill. The sounds of the airship grew faint. Silence descended by the time she could see the statue again.

  
It took a little longer before she found a quiet spot, a bench under a couple of trees, illuminated by the light of a single lamppost. No one was about her, just the way she had wanted it. Freeing her chest from the strap of the instrument, Niyon placed it beside her and undid the latches. Cradling the instrument as it left the warmth of its bed, she placed it upon her legs and breathed deep.

  
‘This is a forsaken world.’

  
It is if you doubt.

  
His gaze was far away. But where was hers? Where had she been looking while the night went on without her?

  
The answer was in her music. A sombre melody, in perfect sync with her own.

  
-END-


End file.
